With these words Mrs. Stein went into the room where her guest was sitting. It was easy to see that Mrs. Bickel had something very important on her mind. She had on her fine red and yellow shawl, and on her hat a bunch of large white feathers, higher and bushier than Mrs. Stein had ever seen in her life. The doctor's wife greeted her guest with the fervent though unspoken hope that that lady would immediately unfold the object of her coming, so that the visit might speedily come to a close, and she herself go back to her children's packing. Not so; Mrs. Bickel opened the conversation with a remark upon the weather, which she thought was growing worse and worse. Mrs. Stein agreed with her. Then followed "the cherries"; they had not ripened well this summer. From "cherries" she came to "apples," a natural association of ideas. Mrs. Stein burned with impatience. Her mind would run on the travelling-bags. Could aunty pack them alone? Would not the most important things be left out, after all, and a great many useless ones put in? That reminded her of the flute, and she hastened to ask whether Feklitus had his parents' permission to lend it. This gave Mrs. Bickel the opening she had been wanting. She said that it was a good thing that Oscar wanted to take the flute; for her husband had decided to let Feklitus take the trip to the Rhine; and he could play on the flute to Mrs. Stanhope; all the more, because none of the doctor's children were musical.

She and Mr. Bickel thought, too, that it would be pleasant for their son to be there with the others, and that it would show people that the doctor's children had other and better acquaintances at home than the two poor children whom Mrs. Stanhope had taken with her.

But here Mrs. Stein interrupted the stream of words to say that there was no occasion for that, as Mrs. Stanhope had seen for herself that Fani and Elsli were her children's most intimate friends. She then inquired whether Mrs. Bickel wished Feklitus to go with her children.

Mrs. Bickel declared that she should not think of such a thing as that. In that case Mrs. Stanhope would naturally ask him to stay at her house, which of course they would not allow; as if he could not afford to pay for his lodging! But she would be glad if Oscar would write as soon as convenient and tell Feklitus the best way to go, and also find out the chief hotel in the neighborhood. Then, if Oscar would meet him on his arrival, and show him the way to it, Feklitus would take a room there, and spend the time between meals with the children at Mrs. Stanhope's. His father meant to go himself very soon to visit his young relatives, as it was only proper that he should do; and he would bring the boy home.

Mrs. Stein listened patiently to this long discourse, but her thoughts often wandered away into the next room, to aunty and the bags. How were they getting on all this time?

She promised Mrs. Bickel that Oscar would do what she asked, and now she hoped the visit was coming to a close. But there was more to ask. How many suits of clothes did she think needed for such a journey? Would six new ones be enough? Wouldn't it be well to fill one trunk entirely with new shirts, so that they needn't be washed away from home; hotel laundry work was so bad. Mrs. Stein only replied that she had not so many suits to give her children, and that Mrs. Bickel must decide such questions for herself.

It was growing dark before the visit came to an end, and Mrs. Stein hastened back into the other room. The packing was done, and aunty had gone away with Oscar. The other children were complaining that they wanted her, and they didn't see why Oscar should keep her all to himself.

Little Rikli had been watching all the preparations with the keenest interest, and, as it turned out, with an unfortunate effect. For mother and aunty, having decided that the child was too young to go so far from home, had persuaded her, by the prospect of many delightful treats and excursions with them, to make up her mind that she would far rather stay at home, than go on this long, uncertain journey without them. But alas! all this delightful stir of preparation had fascinated the child, and completely changed her views on the subject. She was seized with a desire to go too, and she suddenly burst into a loud scream, which increased every instant under Emma's scolding, and was only intensified by Fred's taunting song:—

"Hanseli is a cry-baby, Rikli is another; She's so exactly like him, He must be her brother."

In the midst of this hubbub, the mother entered, and at once interposed her tranquillizing influence. She lifted Rikli from the floor, where she sat in the midst of the luggage, and called the other two to sit quietly down at her side. On this last evening, she said, she wanted to have a little peaceful time with them; and Emma and Fred were very glad to consult her about the various questions which lay on their minds, which they had meant to ask aunty about, when Oscar so unceremoniously usurped her.

As Rikli listened to the conversation which followed, and learned how many things her brother and sister were in doubt about,—as to their behavior in Mrs. Stanhope's house, and what they should say and do there, and what they could not,—she made up her mind that it was far better for her to stay quietly at home with her mother and aunty; and the prospect of walks and drives with them, and of the biggest share of all the cherry and apple cakes, seemed more attractive than the very doubtful circumstances in which the others would be placed. So Rikli became quite reconciled to her lot, and was in good-humor again.

Oscar had meantime led his aunt into an unused bedroom on the ground floor, and, having locked the door for farther security from interruption, he announced that he had something very important to consult her about. He had been all winter hunting for suitable mottoes for his new banner, and had pressed so many friends into the service, that he had collected no fewer than thirty-five beautiful mottoes, any one of which would have been perfectly satisfactory. From such wealth it seemed impossible to choose, yet some choice must be made. One banner would hold only one motto, and even Oscar, with all his enthusiasm, could scarcely hope to have thirty-five banners for the sake of using them all. Aunty must help him decide, and already before this last afternoon they had had at least a dozen consultations on the subject, in which they had gradually succeeded in reducing the number of candidates to three. And now the final selection must be made, and Oscar and his aunt could not agree upon it. His aunt wanted him to make his own choice, but he was not willing to decide against her opinion; yet he could not give up his own; he hoped by farther argument to bring her over to his side.

"Now, aunty," he said, when the door was safely locked, "we must settle this about the motto. I will repeat them all three over again, and you really must choose. First I'll say the one you like best:—

"'Drums beat and banners fly Our Festival to grace; Long live all men, we cry; But guests we forward place.'

"Now that's a good motto, aunty, but you see I can't pack the drum, and so it won't suit very well to say 'drums beat,'—will it?"

"There must be plenty of drums there, and perhaps Fani has one," said his aunt. "And I'm sure the motto is a very good one. However, let me hear the second. I've forgotten just how it goes."

"'Come to our Festival! come all! Come from Switzerland! Conductor, let your tickets fall! And, fireman, stay your hand! You who make boots, or who brew beer, You one and all are welcome here.'

"Don't you think that is, after all, better than the other, aunty?"

"Yes, it is certainly very good, but it is too long. It would take Elsli such a time to embroider it."

"That settles it, then," said Oscar, well pleased that his aunt found a decisive reason for rejecting another. "Now, then, for the last, short and energetic:—

"'Freedom we shout! Freedom for all! Freedom for ever and aye! We will not yield till all chains fall, And tyrants are banished or die!'

"Do you hear that, aunty?"

"Yes, my dear, I can't help hearing it, and it's very spirited, but it doesn't mean anything. I don't know of any 'tyrants' that need to be banished or die, do you? It isn't to be thought of. Take the first, or, if you don't like that, choose another from the list."

But Oscar was obstinate. The first he wouldn't have, and he must somehow or other bring his aunt over to accept this one.

"But, aunty," he began in a tone of remonstrance, "there were tyrants once; don't you remember the poem about Dionysius, the tyrant? And if there have been once, there may be again, and then this verse would be splendid; don't you think so?"

Before aunty could respond to this appeal, came a fearful pounding at the door, which put a stop to the discussion. Fred and Emma, having hunted over the rest of the house in vain, had at last bethought themselves of this apartment; and, finding the door locked, they felt sure that the objects of their search were within.

Emma called through the keyhole:—

"Come, aunty, please, quick! Supper is ready, and papa has come, and mamma sent us to call you."

And Fred shouted in a still louder tone:—

"Come along, Oscar; papa is asking for you."

All was over. His aunt opened the door at once, and Oscar had to follow her.

The next morning, when the carriage had been rolled out of the coach-house and stood waiting for the horses, to which the groom was giving the last polish in the stable, Dr. Stein came into the room where the mother and aunt were putting the final touches to the preparation of the children for the journey.

"I must say good-bye now. My patients cannot be kept waiting, and I must go. One word to you, Oscar. Be careful not to carry your schemes too far while you are visiting. Here, at home, every one knows you; and, if you do a foolish thing, they say: 'It's the doctor's boy; he'll soon be set right.' But now you will have only yourself to depend upon; so don't go into anything heedlessly. Don't undertake anything which you are not quite sure about, so that no unpleasant consequences may result either for yourself or for the lady whose guest you are to be. You must remember that you will displease Mrs. Stanhope if you do a wrong or foolish thing. You are old enough to understand me without farther explanation. Do not forget. Now good-bye, my boy, and you too, Emma; good-bye, Fred. Be happy and be good."

With these words the father shook all three pairs of outstretched hands and was off.

The mother drew Emma to the other side of the room for a word of admonition. The big roll of paper and the book that the little girl had been so anxious to have at Christmas, and was now so determined to take with her, roused anxious thoughts in the mother's mind, and she felt that she must speak seriously to the child, warning her not to instigate Fani to any undertaking which Mrs. Stanhope might not approve. She reminded Emma that Fani was now very well off, and that the prospect before him was very bright, if Mrs. Stanhope should decide to take him under her protection. But it was of the greatest importance that he should do nothing to displease Mrs. Stanhope, and Emma would certainly never forgive herself if she should be the means of leading him to act contrary to his benefactress' wishes.

Emma understood the value of her mother's suggestion and promised to heed her advice, adding earnestly that she would try to think of different ways in which Fani could make himself agreeable to Mrs. Stanhope.

"You'd far better not think about it at all, my child," replied her mother. "Enjoy with Fani the pleasures and advantages of his life, and don't try to bring about any special event, as you are so fond of doing. And one thing more: don't forget to pray every day to God to protect you and to help you to carry out all your good resolutions. Now that you are leaving home, my only comfort is that our Father's hand is still about you, there as well as here. Promise me that you will pray for the heavenly blessing every night, as we do together at home."

Emma promised not to neglect her morning and evening prayers, and begged her mother to have no anxiety about her.

Meanwhile, aunty had been standing by the window, talking with Fred.

"Pray be careful," she said, "never by any chance to let one of your small creatures, even the prettiest one, escape out of your pockets upon the table or the floor. In fact, you would do better not to put them into your pockets at all, for fear of some such mishap, as often occurs at home. It would spoil all the pleasure of your visit; for Mrs. Stanhope would neither understand nor forgive such carelessness."

"Don't worry, aunty," replied the boy; "I'll fix them so they can't stir. I'll bring them all safe home to you, and I'm sure you will be delighted with them."

Rikli had been meanwhile listening to one person and another, catching the words of warning and advice as they were given to the three travellers, and dwelling with pride and pleasure at the thought that she was the only one who did not need any caution.

To her aunt's closing words to Fred, she added quickly:—

"Yes, yes! how Mrs. Stanhope would stare to see a horrid frog or a red snail or a blind worm come hopping over her white table-cloth!"

"Well, I think any one would stare, to see a snail or a worm hop anywhere!" said the boy laughing.

"You'd see what she would say, and how she would put you out of the house in no time, and take all your food away."

"I don't believe I should see her say anything at all," retorted Fred, with another laugh.

"You'd find out how it would be, when you were sent home in disgrace; and you'd be ashamed to be seen in the railway carriage, and by the children in school."

"I don't mean to find out anything of the kind," said Fred, and the contest dropped.

The coachman cracked his whip as a signal that it was high time to start. Hurried good-byes were said; the children seized their bags, and seated themselves in the carriage; the horses started, and the journey was begun. Mother and aunt stood by the road-side, and waved their handkerchiefs till the carriage turned a corner and was lost to view.

"Oh! I wish I knew that they would meet with no accident, and would all come home safe!" said the mother, with a sigh, as she turned back to the house.

"That will be as God wills," said her sister; "we must trust them to him, and pray him to send his angels to watch over them; that will be a better protection than any that we two could afford them."



CHAPTER III.

ON THE BEAUTIFUL RHINE.

In the garden at Rosemount was such an excitement and running to and fro as had never been seen there before. It was the day after the arrival of the three guests. Great had been the surprise of the doctor's children, yesterday evening, when they were shown up stairs, to find three large rooms assigned for their use, one to each. For the house was so arranged that there was but one bed in each room. The windows of all three rooms overlooked the garden, and beyond could be seen the river. The children had never before been so royally lodged. Emma planned directly to spend long hours at her window, looking into the moonlight and listening to the river, as late as she chose, for no one would come to send her off to bed. Oscar looked about the large apartment, and thought what a fine place it would be to spread out his banners. They would not be in any one's way, as they were at home; and no one would come and clear them out. Fred examined all the presses, tables, and drawers, and destined them to his special uses.

The meeting of the five children was a most joyous one to them all. From the first moment they found themselves on as intimate a footing as if they had never been separated. Elsli and Fani were not changed as the doctor's children had feared they might be; on the contrary, it seemed as if they were even nearer to their old friends. Fani was merrier and more lively than ever, and Elsli, although still somewhat shy, was more confiding than before, and just as amiable and obliging; and they both were so attractive in their nice clothes, that Emma took great delight in merely looking at them.

The first morning was spent in emptying the big trunk, with Aunt Clarissa's help, and in arranging the contents in the three rooms. In the afternoon the children were allowed to explore the house and garden, and to have a run in the meadows, that they might become acquainted with Rosemount and its surroundings. What a pleasure for them all!

Emma's first wish was to get down to the river-side, under the lindens, and to see the branches dip and rise and dip again into the swiftly flowing stream. Fani had drawn her a picture of it, and she must see it. It was Fani's favorite spot, and he was ready enough to show it to her; so the two ran off together.

Fred did not know which way to turn. He was fairly bewildered by all the living wonders that surrounded him; the glancing, gleaming, humming world of the rose-garden. Here a golden beetle crept across the lawn; there the air seemed full of gayly colored butterflies. On the edge of the fountain sat a golden-green lizard in the sun. Over on the hedge a great variety of wonderful insects swarmed on every leaf and twig! What a harvest he could gather! He ran about in every direction; he was beside himself with delight; discovering every moment something new and unexpected. Nor was this in the garden only. Down by the river, under the old trees, in the thick hedges, in the damp earth by the water-side, between the cracks of the stones by the river, he felt sure of countless treasures. He paid little attention to his friends or his brother and sister; he seemed to swim in an ocean of wealth, undreamed of before, and all within his grasp!

Oscar, meantime, under Elsli's guidance, had been examining every part of the garden; carefully observing everything as he walked along down to the Rhine, along the meadow-land and back to the court-yard, which was all walled in, and where two big oak-trees cast a far-reaching shadow. Around these oaks ran a wooden seat where one could sit in comfort under the thick protection of the leafy cover. Here the two children seated themselves; and Oscar looked thoughtfully across the broad meadow, around which ran a high hedge; a broad paved path led from the court-yard down to a gate-way of iron-work, which united the hedges that enclosed the whole estate.

"And you say, Elsli," said Oscar presently, "that beyond the hedges the land does not belong to Mrs. Stanhope at all?"

"No, Oscar; a very large vineyard belongs to her besides. It is so large that you would not believe the quantity of grapes that she gets from it. It lies on the other side of the house, towards the Rhine."

"I don't mean that," said Oscar; "Fani showed me that this morning. I mean from the end of the meadow-land across the high-road there."

Elsli was quite sure that Mrs. Stanhope owned nothing beyond the high-road.

"Do you see that little hill over there?" said Oscar, pointing in that direction. "There's a wind-mill up there; see how finely the big wings go turning round in the wind, like huge banners waving for a festival, and inviting people from all sides to come and rejoice together. All the people who are to come to our celebration might camp out around the foot of that hill, and the speaker could stand up above there on that platform, and those huge flags would wave to and fro behind him and show where the festival was taking place, to all the neighboring country!"

Oscar uttered these words in such a tone of enthusiasm that his companion caught the infection; but she hesitated.

"Yes, it would be fine," she said; "but don't you think we should have to ask the miller's leave?"

Oscar thought this would not be at all necessary, as the meeting would do no harm to the mill or to the grass, which was evidently very short. He would go over and inspect the place himself.

"How is the banner getting on, Elsli?" he asked presently.

"Oh, I forgot it entirely!" said the girl, somewhat startled. "It is all ready, and I meant to put it in your bedroom to welcome you. You see, Oscar, I finished it; because Aunt Clarissa said that it would be prettier without a motto, if I put a wreath of Alpine roses on the Swiss flag, and so I embroidered one upon it."

But this did not suit Oscar at all; he wished to have his motto, his verses, over which he had spent so much trouble and had had so many discussions. He had no mind to drop it now; and he looked as if he had suffered a severe loss. Elsli saw his disappointment, and she hastened to propose a remedy. Why not put the motto on the other side of the banner? Oscar could print the verse in large letters on a piece of paper, and she would fasten it upon the banner, on the side opposite the Alpine roses. That was a clever thought. Oscar's spirits rose again, and the banner would be really in the end far handsomer than he had expected.

"You are the smartest girl I know, Elsli," cried the lad; and this unexpected praise brought the color into Elsli's cheeks, for she was little accustomed to notice, much less to commendation.

"How many Swiss have you found and invited to join our society?" continued Oscar.

Elsli confessed that she had discovered but one; the baker's boy who brought fresh bread to the house every day; and she could not induce him to join the society. "I am very sorry," she said, "that I could not do as you asked me; but we are not allowed to go into the kitchen and talk to the people that come there."

But Oscar was well satisfied. He only wanted to know at what time and from which direction the baker's boy came every morning; and this Elsli told him. "All right!" he said; "I can help myself, now."

Meanwhile, Fani and Emma were walking up and down by the river-side, talking with constantly increasing eagerness. Emma had never been so excited; she had had a tremendous surprise. Since Fani had left home, she had never lost sight of her hope that he would become a great artist. He had never mentioned the subject in his letters, and it had been more and more evident that Mrs. Stanhope meant to educate the two children, as she would have done her own, in various branches, without any view to a special training for a life-work. Emma feared that Fani would lose his ambition to be an artist, and she set herself to work to counteract this danger. She had heard of a book called the "Lives of Celebrated Painters," and she did not rest till her aunt promised to procure it for her at Christmas; for she thought it would inspire Fani with fresh enthusiasm to learn how artists had become great and celebrated. She now brought the book with her, and told Fani about it, in the hope that it would serve as a spur to arouse his dormant energies. What was her astonishment when Fani pushed the book away, and broke out passionately:—

"No, no; I will not read it! I will try not to think of it at all! You see, Emma, I have a drawing lesson every day; only now of course I do not, while you are here on a visit. And the more I draw, the more I want to; I can do much better than I used to, and the teacher has told me several times that I can certainly learn to be an artist."

Emma could not contain her joy at these words, and she cried out:—

"Now it's all right, Fani! You can be a painter, and I am sure you will be a celebrated one, the most famous one in all the land. But why do not you tell Mrs. Stanhope directly that you want to do that and nothing else?"

Fani shook his head and looked very much depressed.

"It would be of no use. Mrs. Stanhope will not allow me to be an artist; I am sure of that. Once when we were walking, I said to her that I thought painting pictures was the greatest happiness a man could have; she said it was only a childish notion; and that when I grew up I should have very different ideas as to greatness and happiness. And since then she has taken me about the estate several times; for you know, Emma, that it is a very large property; great vineyards stretching for miles along the Rhine. She says there is nothing so desirable for a man as to own a large place, and to live on it; and I think she has the thought in her mind that she will keep me with her here on the estate; and of course it would be a great thing for me if she did. Just think of it. Always to live here as we do now; how terribly ungrateful I should be if I did not rejoice in such a prospect! Only—I must give up all idea of ever being an artist!" And Fani hung his head.

"Oh, what a shame! It's of no use thinking about it any more, then!" cried Emma, in tones of intense disappointment. "And I was just beginning to think that everything would turn out for you as I had hoped. It is too bad! I had such good fun reading the book, and putting your name in the place of the celebrated artist; like this—'In delicacy of drawing Fani von Buchberg stands far above all his compeers.' For you know when you were celebrated, you would be spoken of so; for they always take the name of their birth-place, instead of their family name; and that would be particularly nice, because Hopli isn't a very good name, but Fani von Buchberg sounds finely, doesn't it? Listen!" And Emma read from the book.

"Where Fani von Buchberg learned to mix his paints, is a mystery. Even to this day, he is the only one who can place such enchanting tones of color upon his canvas. Of course, that is a mistake; it ought to be shades of color, shouldn't it, Fani? Oh! think, if such things could be said of you! and now it is all over; no chance of that any more!" And the girl threw herself on the bench as if it wasn't worth while to take the trouble to stir again.

Fani sat down at her side. He had followed every word she had said, with increasing excitement; and he had caught the fire of her enthusiasm, for his eyes flamed.

"I know something that may make a difference," he said presently; and at his words Emma, who had looked as if life had lost all charm for her, sprang up with renewed interest, exclaiming eagerly:—

"What is it, Fani? Speak; do speak!"

"Come with me," and he ran along the river-side, drawing her with him. "There, sit down here and look up over Rosemount, towards the wood. Do you see that ruined castle, all covered with ivy?"

"I don't see anything. Oh, yes, I do now! I can see an old, old tower"; and as she spoke the excited girl leaned backwards towards the river, and she would certainly have fallen in, if Fani had not caught her and held her fast.

"There, we will go back to the seat again," he said; "though the ruin is scarcely visible from here," he added, as they reached the spot; "but it is safer. It is the most beautiful ruined castle that you can imagine. It is all covered with ivy, and the stones are moss-grown, and the gray walls show through in places, and in the setting sun they flame with crimson; you've no idea how beautiful it is! I saw it once from the steamboat. It was splendid! Now listen! The last lesson I took, the teacher asked me whether I was in earnest when I said that I wanted to be a painter; and I said yes, but that I could never be allowed to; and I told him just what I have told you. He understood at once; and he said that I mustn't, of course, do anything to displease Mrs. Stanhope; but that possibly she might in some way be led to have the same wish. He advised me to make a drawing of something very beautiful; and he said he would send it to Duesseldorf, where they do something or other with a whole lot of drawings, and the best one gets a prize. If mine got a prize, Mrs. Stanhope might change her mind; and if it didn't, I could try again. I thought directly of the ruined castle, and how beautiful it would be to draw! But there's no good view of it except from the middle of the river, and it's quite impossible for me to get there."

To Emma there was no such word as impossible.

"Of course we can get there, Fani. What a delightful ideal" she cried. "We can make a trip on the steamboat, and we can see the river, and you must make a sketch of it as fast as you can."

"Oh, yes! I shall just get a few strokes on the paper, and then—whizz!—we shall be past it like a flash of lightning. What good would that do?"

Emma was not to be discouraged. If the only thing needful was a way to take a sketch from the river, she would set herself to find such a way.

At this moment Fani interrupted her meditations by the exclamation: "Oh, the bell! the bell!" and she heard the ringing of the supper-bell; and the two children scampered back to the house, and joined the scattered guests, who came from every direction to meet in the great dining-room.

At the upper end of the table, spread with many delicious luxuries, sat Mrs. Stanhope, and she welcomed the children in the kindest manner. Aunt Clarissa seated them in their places, then sat down herself at the foot of the table, and the meal began. The guests brought wonderful appetites to the feast. The conversation was subdued, for in Mrs. Stanhope's presence the children's liveliness was somewhat checked. Elsli spoke least, and also partook least of the tempting viands. Her abstinence attracted the attention of Fred, who sat next her, and, in spite of a warning shove which she gave him under the table, to show him that she wished to avoid observation, he exclaimed in a loud whisper:—

"What's the matter with you, Elsli? Why don't you eat?"

After supper Mrs. Stanhope led them all out upon the terrace, and they sat down in a semicircle on the garden benches. Then she told them that she had a plan of taking them very soon on a steamboat excursion down the Rhine, as far as Cologne; where there was a remarkably fine zooelogical garden which they would all visit together. Emma's eyes blazed with delight, but she did not speak; her thoughts were busy, but not wholly with the animals of the garden. Fred was delighted at the prospect; but the zooelogical garden had a powerful rival in an enormous night-moth which was humming about his head, and which he could hardly resist his desire to jump up and catch. Such a prize it would be! But he recollected his aunt's advice, on the good manners of sitting still, especially in Mrs. Stanhope's presence. Oscar was overjoyed at the prospect of a voyage, and he bethought himself immediately of the possibility of meeting with persons much more desirable for his Society than Elsli's baker's boy.

The next day the children sat down to keep their promise of writing home an account of their experiences. The three letters were very different in style, but they were all filled with the delight of their writers at the beauty and magnificence of the villa, and with the pleasures they enjoyed and the kindness they received. They hoped they should stay twelve weeks instead of six. These were the letters. But into each letter was secretly slipped a private note, addressed to Aunty, begging her to persuade papa to allow the visit to be prolonged as much as possible. Fred added that if the time fixed should be a year, and then a cipher added to the number of days, three thousand six hundred and fifty would not be one too many for him.



CHAPTER IV.

IN THE FISHERMAN'S HUT.

The next morning, Oscar was early on hand at the iron gate; waiting to see the baker's boy, when he brought the bread. The boy came along with a huge basket on his arm, from which issued an agreeable smell of freshly baked loaves. Oscar went to meet him, and asked abruptly:—

"Which canton are you from?"

"That is none of your business," answered the boy.

Oscar was not a whit surprised or daunted by this reply.

"You needn't be so rough," he said; "I've a very good reason for asking." And he went on to explain to the boy what he had in mind, and to enlarge on the pleasure of collecting as many Swiss as possible; and of holding a festival in honor of their country. Then it appeared that the fellow was not a bad fellow at all, and had only answered in that rude way to show his independence. He received Oscar's proposal with great interest, though he owned that he knew but very few Swiss in the neighborhood. He had come from Lucerne only about six months before, to work for the baker, whose wife was his cousin. A shoemaker's boy from Uri lived near by, and a porter at the "Bunch of Grapes" came from Schwyz. Then there was the great factory down by the canal, which belonged to some Swiss gentlemen. He carried bread there every day, and had often seen two boys playing ball in the garden, but they had never spoken to him. Oscar was well pleased with this information. He asked the boy to invite the shoemaker's boy and the porter to join the society, and he would see the others himself. He would appoint the day, and decide on other particulars later; as the baker's boy came every day to the house, there would be no difficulty in keeping him informed.

Highly delighted with his success, Oscar told the other children of his plans, and asked Fani to go with him to the factory to see the two boys. Fani refused decidedly. Mrs. Stanhope, he said, did not allow him and Elsli to visit people with whom she was not acquainted, especially in the neighborhood. But when Elsli saw how badly Oscar felt at this refusal, she said:—

"Perhaps you can go, Oscar. If you don't think of any better way, I'll tell you what I think you could do. When I came away from home, Mr. Bickel asked me to look about here and find out what sort of factories there were in this neighborhood, and send him word so that he might know whether he could form any business relations with them. I have not been able to do anything about it. Perhaps you could go and visit the factory, and then write to Mr. Bickel about it"

"I always said you were the cleverest girl in the world," cried Oscar, with delight; for he saw the way now clear before him. That afternoon, when they all went out to the court-yard and garden for their out-door games, he ran off to the factory. The dwelling-house stood not far from the canal, surrounded by a pretty flower-garden. Under the trees two lads were playing ball. They played with such zeal that Oscar, looking over the hedge, became absorbed in watching them, and entirely forgot his object He was a good player himself; but such throws!

"Bravo!" he cried; and the boys looked round. "Come and play too," called one of them.

Oscar asked nothing better. Hardly had he entered the yard than piff! paff! the play began again. Such a game he had never had before, nor with such players. The boys were as well pleased as he; and they played on till the big factory bell rang for close of work, and Oscar remembered that he must go home. He wanted to make acquaintance with these boys. The three playmates had, to be sure, already struck up a friendship, but they did not even know each other's names. Oscar now told his, and asked theirs; and learned that they were named Fink; the sons of the family who lived in the large house. They were from St. Gall, and were warm-hearted, wide awake young fellows. They made friends with this new acquaintance from Switzerland with all their hearts, and Oscar was as ardent as they. What enterprises they would plan and carry out together! But there was no time to stop and talk about it now. He could only hint to them that he had a project of founding a great society of Swiss, a kind of Swiss Confederation, in which he wished them to take part. They received the idea with enthusiasm, and, having fixed a time for meeting his new friends again, Oscar returned to Rosemount with a happy heart. But what kind of a factory that was of Mr. Fink's, he knew as little as before; he had forgotten to ask.

From this time Oscar was always missing during the time that the children were left to themselves to play as they pleased out-of-doors. No one minded his absence; Fred was so busy with his collections that he thought of nothing else; Fani and Emma were absorbed in their own plans and only wanted to be let alone; and Elsli, feeling that her society was not important to any one, sat by herself on the bench under the lindens, occupied with her own thoughts by the hour together. Sometimes she grew unhappy at the thought that she was living here so well-off and at ease, while her father and mother still had such a hard life at home. Often she thought about Nora, and wondered if she had forgotten to ask the heavenly Father to call her to himself. She could well be spared from the earth, where no one needed her, and she longed to go. To tell the truth, Elsli dreaded to look forward. She did not feel at home in Mrs. Stanhope's house; she had a constant sense of unfitness for the position; yet when she thought of going back to her parents, she knew that there she should be equally out of place. So the poor child was living a lonely life at beautiful Rosemount, and thinking herself a useless and superfluous being on the face of the earth.

Down along the bank of the river, a narrow foot-path ran for some distance towards a thick clump of willows, in which it disappeared. Elsli had often followed this path by herself; it was so quiet that she liked it particularly; she never met any one there, for it led only from Mrs. Stanhope's grounds to the willows. To-day, after Elsli had sat alone for a time, she rose and walked along this path, and gazed at the ever-moving waves as they rushed headlong toward the sea. Sunk in thought, she came at last nearer to the willows than she had ever been before. The bushes grew larger and higher and became real trees; from a distance they looked like a thick wood that reached far into the water. Here was complete solitude; not a creature was to be seen, and the plash of the water below was the only sound that broke the stillness. Suddenly a loud scream startled the air. Elsli drew back in alarm. Louder and louder grew the sounds of distress, now pausing, then beginning afresh. The child, recovering her courage, hurried forward to the spot from which they came. Behind the first low-growing clump of willows the ground was wet and swampy; and fast caught in the bog stood two children;—a little girl, who was screaming with all her might, and a boy, who was tugging at his sister's arm as hard as he could. When he found that he could not pull her out he too began to cry aloud. Elsli came to their aid, and lifted the little girl from her uncomfortable position. The boy then slowly worked his way out, but his wooden shoes were a great encumbrance, and he moved with difficulty. When the two children stood at last on dry land with their wet shoes and clothes soaked with muddy water, they presented a pitiable sight, and Elsli asked them sympathetically whether they were far from home, and where they lived.

The boy, who was scarcely more than six years old, evidently felt immediate confidence in Elsli. He took her by the hand and said entreatingly:—

"Come with us and tell mother about it!" And as he spoke he looked ruefully at his shoes and at his sister's gown, on which the mud was rapidly drying, and which looked as if it were made of pasteboard. The little girl, not more than four years old, taking Elsli's other hand, said softly, "Do come with us."

It was plain that they wanted some friendly intercession with their mother, and Elsli felt sure that such small children could not have wandered far from home; so she held tight the clasping hands and let them lead her.

The boy became at once very confidential, and entered on the family history. His mother was ill, and his grandfather could not go out into the sun unless she helped him. The little girl's name was Lenchen, and his own was Lucas, and the other boys were Tolf and Heini, and were not much bigger than he. As he talked, they passed the willow-bushes, and came to the taller trees that stood near together; and quite close to the water, wedged tightly in between two of these trees, stood a small hut, so low and gray with moss, that it could scarcely be distinguished from the trees.

"Here," said the boy, and drew Elsli with him into the house. It was pleasant and clean within, though low and small. The sun was streaming in through the little window in the corner. Against the wall was a bedstead, where the sick mother lay, staring with big, wide-open eyes at the new-comer. In the sunny corner sat an old man with snow-white hair. He looked up wonderingly at Elsli and the children. Two boys, not much larger than Lucas, came towards them as they entered.

"We've been looking for you everywhere, and we couldn't find you anywhere!" they cried. Elsli went to the bedside and told the mother about the children's misfortune, and where she had found them.

The poor woman thanked her, and said it was very difficult for her to look after the little ones, now that she was confined to her bed. The two older boys had all they could do to keep the house in order, so she let the younger children go out by themselves; and sometimes they got into trouble, for they were foolish little things. As she spoke, the mother looked with anxious eyes at Lenchen, as she stood in her mud-stiffened clothes.

"Can I help you in any way?" asked Elsli. She spoke timidly, for the woman's tone and manner compelled respect.

"We have never been obliged to beg," was the reply. "We help ourselves as well as we can. But since I have been ill, it has been very hard. What help could a young lady like you give us?"

"I am not a young lady. I can take off Lenchen's frock and wash it, and hang it out to dry," replied Elsli, eagerly.

"Your dress shows that you are a young lady," answered the sick woman, evidently much surprised; and she glanced searchingly at Elsli from head to foot.

The dress, which was one of Nora's, was of soft woollen material, trimmed with silk bands.

"It is not mine; it was only given me to wear," she said.

Suddenly the woman felt strongly drawn towards the friendly girl. She thought she must be a foreigner. Her way of speaking, her whole appearance had something unusual about it. Perhaps some one had taken pity on her, and had lent her clothes because she was so good. So she thanked Elsli and accepted her offer. Without hesitation Elsli set to work, and it was easy to see that it was not for the first time. In a trice she had freed Lenchen from her shell, and dressed her in a little jacket that hung on the wall. Then she took the stiff frock upon her arm and went with the children into the kitchen. She drew water in a wooden bucket, and put the two pairs of little feet to soak, after removing the dirty shoes and socks. When they were clean and dried, she sent the children back into the other room, while she washed out the dress. They went very obediently, but Lucas called back to her to hurry and come to them as soon as the washing was done. The other boys now came into the kitchen, desirous to scrape acquaintance with this novel visitor.

When Tolf saw how much at home the stranger seemed to be in her work, he said:—

"Get our supper ready too, won't you? If you don't, we shall have to wait till father comes home; and he doesn't know how to cook very well, either."

"Yes," chimed in Heini; "and once he fell asleep when he was cooking, he was so tired; and the potatoes were all burned up."

"Yes, and then father has to go fishing after supper," continued Tolf; "every day, no matter how tired he is, he takes the boat and goes to catch fish to sell."

"And we've got to learn to fish too," interrupted Heini; "father says the oars are too heavy for us now, but by and by we shall be strong enough, and we must all work as hard as we can, or else we shall have nothing to eat, and our house will be taken away from us."

These words roused many old memories in Elsli; how well she knew how it all was. It seemed to her as if she were at home with her father again, and saw his tired face, and heard him say:—

"If we can only manage so that we shall not have to give up our house!"

When Elsli had finished the washing, she went to the mother's bedside, and asked if she were willing that she should get the supper ready, and if she would tell her what to do. The eyes of the sick woman glowed with pleasure.

"Oh!" she cried, "how kind you are! will you really do that for us?" and she seized Elsli's hand, and grasped it heartily. Then she told her what she wished to have done. It was simple enough; Elsli had done the same at home a hundred times. The boys ran into the kitchen with her.

"I know of something new for you to do," she said, presently. "How old are you?"

"I am seven," "I am eight," they answered both at once; and Elsli said:—

"Well, you are old enough. When I was eight I had to cook the potatoes all by myself. Now I will show you how to do it, if you like, and then when your father comes home tired, you can say, 'Sit down, dear father, and eat your supper; it is all ready.'"

The boys were very much pleased with this proposition, and all eagerness to begin. Elsli showed them how to make the fire with small bits of dry wood at first, and to put the larger sticks on afterwards. Then the potatoes must be washed very clean, and put into the pot, and a very little water poured upon them. The boys worked away merrily, and meanwhile Elsli fetched the sour milk. The boys watched the pot unceasingly, but when the potatoes began to burst apart, first one and then another, they were frightened and called aloud for Elsli. She speedily reassured them, explaining that the bursting only meant that they were good potatoes and that they were done. Then she threw away the water that remained in the pot, and poured the potatoes out into a big round dish. She carried the plates into the other room, and made the table ready against the father's arrival.

The old grandfather, who had watched the proceedings from his corner, called Elsli to him.

"You are good, and very handy too," he said; "can you come again to-morrow?"

Elsli promised to come.

"Look, I am lame," he went on, "and ever since my daughter has been sick, I have not been able to get out into the sun, because there is no one for me to lean on; the children are too little. Will you help me to-morrow to get out-of-doors?"

She promised that too. But now it was time for her to go; she must not be away when the supper-bell rang. The mother thanked her again and again, and the children begged her to stay longer. As she went out of the house she saw a man just taking from his shoulder a shovel, which he placed against the house. Elsli recognized him at once as the weary laborer whom she had seen before, and who had reminded her of her father. And as he stood there now, with his two boys affectionately clinging to his sides, and looked sadly yet kindly at her, he seemed still more to resemble her father, and she could not keep the tears from her eyes. She could scarcely refrain from sobbing, so clearly did she see the anxiety and trouble that were in his heart, the same that weighed down her own father at home. She held her hand to him, he pressed it kindly, and she was gone.

When the father entered the cottage, the children all began talking at once, so that he could not understand a word they said. He went to the bedside, and asked his wife for an explanation. She told him just what had happened, and of her wonder that a child so well dressed and with such an air of refinement should have been able to do that kind of work for poor people like themselves, and she didn't know where she could have come from; but the father said simply, "Our Heavenly Father has taken pity on our misery, and has sent a kind angel to help us." And he thought of the tears of pity that he had seen in Elsli's eyes.

Elsli ran as fast as she could along the path to the linden tree and up into the garden. The supper-bell rang just as she reached the house, and the different members of the household gathered together from their different occupations. No one asked any questions of Elsli. She meant, as soon as she could find a good opportunity, to ask Aunt Clarissa's leave to continue her visits to the fisherman's family. She did not doubt that she should be allowed to help them; they were so much in need of help.

When she left the cottage, she had asked the woman if she should not send a doctor to her; but the answer was that the best medicine would be her own return. The poor mother had been constantly prevented from getting well by trying to work before she was strong enough, and yet there was so much to be done that it was hard for her to keep her bed. If she could lie still for one week only, she would be well again.

So Elsli had decided that she could not help going again, and she was glad to go. It was a real pleasure to her to feel that she could be of use, that some one really needed her.

The next afternoon Elsli did not wait a moment on the seat by the river. As soon as the children had scattered to their different amusements she started down to the lindens, and she did not stop till she reached the little house among the willows. All four children were standing in the door-way awaiting her. They cried out with joy when they espied her, and ran to meet her, and when she took little Lenchen up in her arms, the child almost choked her in her close embrace. The boys too were so glad to see her, and pressed so near her side, that she began to feel as if she were surrounded by a tenderness and love such as she had never before received; the poor, lonely little girl!

The mother's welcome was warm, and the grandfather raised both arms in the air and cried out:—

"God be praised! I had begun to think that there was no chance for to-day!"

He asked her to help him go directly out into the sun; for it was pleasant and warm outside, but within he sat chilly all day long. It was no easy task, for the old man was heavy, and leaned upon her so that she could scarcely stand under his weight, but at last they struggled out to where the sun shone pleasantly on the water, and gilded the trunks of the old willows with his beams. Here the old man sat down, and asked Elsli to sit by him. She did so, and he went on talking.

"Yes," he said, "that is the same old Rhine! How I have always loved it! But it will soon be all over with me; I shall not be long here to see it; I must go, and where? But it's foolish to talk this way to you; you are too young to understand. Your life is just beginning. Are you not happy, and glad to think that you can stay here by this beautiful water for a long, long time to come?"

"I don't think of that when I look at the river," said Elsli. "I think of the beautiful stream that flows through Paradise, and of the happiness of those who live there."

"What do you say! How can you know anything about that?" said the old man, looking at Elsli in amazement.

"I know what is said about it in a beautiful song; I have known it a long time. One of my friends taught it to me, and she has gone there already. Shall I repeat it to you?"

The old man nodded assent, and Elsli was glad to repeat the song again to some one who must be interested to hear it, since he was so soon going there himself, he said. She began directly, and, as the old man listened with great attention, she kept on to the end. He shook his head several times during the recitation, and, when it was finished, he said:—

"That will not be for me."

Elsli was very much startled. "But why not, why not?" she asked, anxiously. "It is certainly for every one; we must all die some time, and then how happy we shall be, when we go there."

He shook his head again.

"Not for me; it is only for the good." He said no more for some minutes, and Elsli sat in silence. At last he spoke again.

"I could tell you something, but I don't think you would understand me. If a man doesn't get along well in life, and he thinks that God can help him but does not, he says to himself that there's no use in praying, and he must help himself as he can; and so he grows reckless and does things that are wrong and that he shouldn't do; then when he comes to die, and he has not thought for a long time anything about God and Heaven, then the door of Paradise does not open to him, and he cannot go in to that happy life. But why do I talk to you of this? You cannot understand."

But Elsli did understand partly, for she remembered hearing her step-mother once say it was easy enough for those to pray who had all they wanted, for they could see that God helped them; but he had never helped her. And Elsli could hear again the sorrowful tones of her father's voice as he answered:—

"If we think that, it will be worse and worse for us; that is not the right way to think."

These thoughts made Elsli very sad; but presently she roused herself and said she would go into the house and see if she could do something for the sick woman; she would come back by and by, and help him into the house again. The old man would not let her go, however; he drew her down again upon the fallen tree on which he was sitting.

"No, no; stay here," he said. "Let us talk a little more; you are wise COT your age. Don't you know some other song? I should like to hear another."

Yes; Elsli knew many others; but she could not tell which it would be best to repeat now. After thinking awhile, she suddenly looked up brightly and said, "I remember one now that perhaps you will like. Shall I say it?" and as her companion nodded assent, she went on:—

"The night draws on—sped is my day; I know my end is near. I raise my trembling hands to pray; The grave's dark road I fear.

"O God! thou art my only light! Be thou my guiding star! Hide all my trespasses from sight; Thy mercies endless are.

"Look down upon me, Lord! I bow, Repenting of my sin, Oh! ope the gates of heaven now, And bid me enter in."

The old man was silent. In a few moments Elsli arose, and the grandfather rose also, to go back with her into the house. While with slow and painful steps they regained the door, he said, thoughtfully:—

"Yes; I heard that long ago when I went to church. Then, it is still true! If I could only find my way there! Will you come to-morrow, my child, and say those verses again?"

Elsli promised heartily. She was glad that she had thought of the right words to help the poor old man. She set to work at once in the house, and did not rest till she had put to rights everything that could make the mother uneasy, and had made the sick woman and the children orderly and comfortable. The boys were eager to have her come into the kitchen, to see how well they remembered their yesterday's lesson. Everything went right; and as she was leaving the house she again met the father coming in, and again received from him the friendly yet depressed greeting which reminded her of her own father. And when the four children seized and held her, declaring that she should not leave them, a rare smile lighted up his weary face for a moment, and he stretched out his hand to her with such a tender look of love as she had never in her life received from any one but her father.

And this was the story of one day after another for many succeeding days. Elsli was living in quite another world from that in which the other children were amusing themselves at Rosemount. A new life had come to her, and she looked so happy always and so changed that Fred one day called out:—

"What makes you so happy, Elsli? You look as if you had just caught two gold beetles!"

Elsli had found a place in the world, and no longer felt herself useless and superfluous. She knew that early every morning the four children began to count the hours till she should come. The sick mother longed for her to appear and with her skilful hands bring neatness and comfort into her room. The grandfather depended on her help to take his daily airing, and, more than that, he loved the songs and hymns and gentle talk, with which Elsli brightened an hour of his lonely day. And every day Elsli could see more clearly how the father grew happier in his home-coming, now that he found the house-work done and a peaceful evening of rest before him.

Only one thing troubled her. She had not found a chance to talk with Aunt Clarissa, and these daily visits were still a secret. And what if Mrs. Stanhope should disapprove them! This thought gave her great anxiety. She knew that there was nothing wrong about them, but she was not sure that they would be allowed. For all that, she could not give them up. She had made many attempts to tell Aunt Clarissa, but there was a great deal going on in the house, and every time she spoke she was told that she must wait till another time. One day she determined to make another effort to get a few minutes' attention from Aunt Clarissa in the evening, and then she would tell her the whole story. After supper she went to her and asked whether she might tell her something before they went out on the terrace with the others. Aunt Clarissa asked how long it would take, for Mrs. Stanhope wished them all to go out together in a few minutes. Elsli answered that it would take some time to tell it all, but that it was very important.

"Then, dear," said Aunt Clarissa, "we shall have to wait till some other time; but I will call you to come to me in my room as soon as I can find a quiet time. There is no hurry, I'm sure."

So it was put off again.



CHAPTER V.

GREAT PREPARATIONS.

The day had come for the expedition to Cologne. It was a perfect day. The sky was blue and the sun shone bright. The children had a delightful trip, and the zooelogical garden was beyond all expectation interesting. Nevertheless, when they went to bed that night, each was a little dissatisfied on looking back over the day. Each thought:—

"It was splendid! but what a shame!"

Yet each was thinking of a different disappointment.

When they went on board the steamboat in the morning, Mrs. Stanhope said:—

"Now, all come and sit here quietly with me; there are so many passengers to-day that it will not do for you to be running about."

This prevented Oscar from carrying out his plan of going through the crowd, to find as many fellow-countrymen as he could, whom he could invite to his great Festival.

Emma had cherished a hope that by some unexpected arrangement it would turn out that the boat would stop for a little while in sight of the ruined castle, and she had brought pencils and paper, so as to be ready for the fortunate moment, if it should come. She was greatly disappointed when the boat shot swiftly by the spot, so that she hardly caught even a glimpse of the chosen view. Fani glanced at her despondently, with a look which said:—

"You see I was right. There's nothing to be done about it."

On entering the gardens, Mrs. Stanhope said again that they must all keep together. No one must linger behind, nor hurry before, or they might get lost; and they must not touch anything in the garden.

This was a blow to Fred, and took away most of his satisfaction in seeing the animals; and his martyrdom did not cease while they were in the gardens. Here he heard great buzzing and humming in a bush, and he longed to see the wonderful insects that made it. There he saw bright-colored butterflies fluttering about the flowers; on one side red-gold beetles were creeping in the grass before his eyes; on the other some huge lizards were sunning themselves on a rock. He must pass by all these attractions; not stop a moment to examine them, not touch one of all this multitude of treasures. It was almost too much for him. He could scarcely keep his hands off.

Elsli walked silently along, scarcely able to enjoy anything she saw, for thinking:—

"They are all waiting for me; and I shall not come all day."

And so it was that all five, in spite of the enjoyments of the day, went to bed at night with the feeling, "What a shame!"

But the next morning the thoughts of disappointment had passed away, and they came out to their recreation in the garden with happy plans for the day.

Oscar had a great deal of business on hand. He must see the Fink boys and fix the day for the Festival. Then, Feklitus was to come to-day, and he must be met at the station. They had put off the Festival till his arrival, for he would be one countryman more, and that was worth counting. Oscar had written him that there were three good hotels near the station; the Bunch of Grapes, the Eagle, and the Morning Star. A little farther on, down by the Rhine, was a magnificent house, as large as the church and the school-house at home put together; yes, and six dwelling-houses besides. It was called the Crown Prince. There were Rhine baths there, and many guests came for the sake of the bathing; perhaps this hotel was rather more expensive than the others.

Mr. and Mrs. Bickel immediately decided in favor of the Crown Prince, on account of the name, which certainly suited perfectly for their son, and also because of the acquaintances he might make there. Of course, there would be only the best of company there, since only those would go who could afford to pay high prices. It was proper, too, to show people that their son was a person who could afford to stay at the most expensive place. Oscar was therefore requested to engage a room for Feklitus at the Crown Prince.

When the time came for the children to go out and occupy themselves as they pleased, Oscar went off like a shot. He and the Fink brothers were now such fast friends that they could not pass one day without meeting, and had promised to remain intimate all their lives long. Oscar had never had such friends before. When they were together the hours flew like minutes, for they had a thousand interests in common—their plays, their plans, their wishes for the future; they talked over everything together.

When the hour came for Feklitus to arrive, they started for the station together. In spite of the friendliness with which the Fink boys met the new-comer, the greeting was rather a one-sided affair, for Feklitus was not accustomed to making friends with strangers. His trunks were handed over to the omnibus-driver, and the four boys proceeded to the hotel on foot. Here he was shown to a very large room, furnished in splendid bright red satin, and with windows higher than the doors of most Buchberg houses.

Oscar began directly to tell Feklitus the arrangements that were to be made to-day in preparation for the great Festival to-morrow. The flag-staff must be set in a hole in the ground, and held firm by stones placed close around its base, so that there would be no delay in the morning. Then he told him whom he had found to join the society and take part in the Festival.

Feklitus' nose went up in scorn.

"A fine set of people you have collected! and all from the small cantons, too!" he exclaimed.

"What do you mean?" cried Oscar, angrily. "Who was it that wanted to put on the banner, 'Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity'?"

"Well, I say that still," answered Feklitus, stoutly. "But I'll have fraternity with those I choose, and not with every one that comes along, as you do."

"Ho, ho! that's it, is it?" cried Oscar, still more furious. "What do you understand, then, by equality?"

"Just what you do," retorted Feklitus. "I mean that we all have equal rights to do our own way; I don't care what other people do as long as they let me alone to act as I choose."

"Oh, you're a fine Swiss!" cried Oscar, screaming with excitement. "Much you must know about the history of your country! Do you know what you would be doing now if it had not been for the brave fellows from the small cantons? You'd be crouching before the tyrant's hat and licking the dust from his shoes!"

At this point the Fink boys joined with great liveliness in the dispute, and supported Oscar's side so energetically that Feklitus became excited in his turn, and shouted that he knew the history of Switzerland as well as they did, and that he had always been at the head of his class in school. The quarrel grew louder and louder, and above all Oscar's voice rose the loudest, crying angrily:—

"We will show you by and by, when we are old enough, what fraternity and equality and love of our country means. We will found a society for the whole of Switzerland, and every year we will celebrate the Feast of the Foundation, in which all the inhabitants of all the cantons shall take part; and at the feasts they shall sit in the order in which they joined the society. The first members shall sit at the head, and then you will see who they are!"

"Yes; then you'll see!" screamed the Finks, and Feklitus raised his voice still more furiously:—

"Well, you won't come anywhere near the first, you St. Gall fellows, not by a long piece!"

Just here the door was thrown wide-open by a very elegant waiter, who looked anxiously at the windows, as if he was afraid they had been broken in the fray. Then he placed himself in the door-way with a very polite air, as if to intimate that he would there await the close of the entertainment.

Oscar found it quite time to lower his voice, and to invite his friends to go with him to the place chosen for the Festival. The polite spectator waiting at the door seemed to exercise a subduing influence upon all the young patriots; for they became suddenly silent, and followed Oscar readily. He stopped at Rosemount only to fetch his banner, and then the boys went on.

When they reached the hill where the windmill stood, the banner was unrolled and admired. The garland of Alpine roses was beautiful with its bright colors and green leaves. On the other side Elsli had neatly sewed a large circle of paper, on which Oscar had inscribed his favorite motto, in large, legible letters.

The afternoon sun shone brightly on the hill and on the great sails of the windmill. It was a fine place for a festival. The Fink brothers began to dig a hole for the flag-staff; and Oscar directed them, and when they were ready he held the staff upright while they filled in the earth around it, and piled up the heavy stones. Feklitus looked on.

Just before this, the owner of the mill had decided on a walk to visit his property. He was looking about inside, when unusual noises without attracted his attention. Coming to a window in the upper story, he looked down on the scene below. There, directly before his astonished eyes, floated a banner, on which these words were plainly visible:

"Freedom we shout! Freedom for all! Freedom forever and aye! We will not yield till all chains fall, And tyrants are banished or die!"

He saw, too, that the boys were working hard to fasten the staff securely in its place.

"Hm, hm, so, so!" he murmured; "that's to be planted on my land! We'll see about that."

He stood still at his post of observation, and watched the farther proceedings. When the staff was firmly fixed so that it was not swayed by the blowing of the banner above, it was carefully drawn out, the stones were buried in the hole and neatly covered with sod. The preparations for the Festival were now all made, and to-morrow the banner could be easily set in place, and the celebration go on.

Oscar had long had a speech in readiness. Now he cast one long delighted glance at the beautiful platform before the windmill, so suitable for a speaker.

"At six o'clock to-morrow evening, not before; the others could not get away before," he said to his friends. "The meeting-place is behind Rosemount, by the three oaks. From there we shall march to music."

Then the four boys went down the hill, and at the main road they separated, promising to meet at the appointed time and place to-morrow.

Early in the morning of this same day, Emma had begun in her busy brain a new set of schemes. On the trip the day before, she had seen something which had excited her inventive powers in the highest degree. At the table at noon a keen observer would have suspected that something was in the wind, from the unseemly haste with which the little girl devoured her food. She was too busy with her project to remember her manners! When they arose from the table, and Mrs. Stanhope, with her never-forgotten politeness, dismissed them with "many wishes for an agreeable afternoon," Emma slipped lightly down the stairs, like a little weasel, and into the kitchen. The fat cook looked up with surprise from her cup of coffee; she could not get along without her coffee at noon, whatever happened.

"Well, now, has anything gone wrong with you, miss?" she asked.

"Oh, no," answered Emma; "but I have a little favor to ask of you. Drink your coffee, first; do."

"I've finished. What do you want?" asked the cook, slowly rising from her chair.

"My shoes are very dusty; will you please wipe them for me?" asked Emma, as politely as if she could not speak in any other way.

"It's hardly worth while," answered the woman, but she lifted Emma's foot upon a cricket, and began to rub it.

"And I want to ask you something more," began Emma. "Where do you get those beautiful fish that we have on the table so often?"

"They come out of the water near by," answered the cook.

"Yes, of course; but I mean, does a fisherman bring them to you, or do you go yourself to fetch them?"

"That would be a queer thing, if I had to trot round a couple of hours before I could have fish for my frying-pan! There! your shoes are all clean again." And she laid the brush away.

"Does it take a couple of hours to go to the fisherman's?" asked Emma.

"Goodness me! I can't speak always as if I were on oath; if you want to know how far it is, you'd better go measure it yourself, miss," retorted the displeased woman.

"That's just what I want to do! Will you please tell me the way?" asked Emma; and she thanked the cook for brushing her shoes, like a little lady.

"You go directly down behind the house, as far as the main road; go along the road a little way, and then turn to the left along a narrow path, till you come to a clump of willows; there you'll find the fisherman's house."

With many thanks Emma ran off.

"She is thinking of going a-fishing herself, I'm sure," said the cook, looking after her.

Emma rushed into the garden to find Fani.

"Come along, come with me! I know something nice! We can do it now!" and, dragging the boy along with her, the impetuous girl told him that the day before she had seen a fisherman out in his boat on the river, and she had made an excuse to go into the kitchen to speak to the cook, because she knew that children were not allowed there unless they had an errand to do; and she had found out where the fisherman lived, and of course they could hire his boat. In that they could go out on the river, and she would keep the boat still while Fani took a sketch of the ruin. If he could not finish it the first time, they could go again and again. It wouldn't cost so much to hire the boat that they couldn't take it several times if necessary.

Fani was delighted. But there was one difficulty.

"Who will row us, Elsli? I don't know how, and the fisherman couldn't leave his work so long."

"I can row myself. I took four people out in a boat once, when I was making a visit, near a lake, to some friends of mamma's. I have often rowed about alone. You don't know how skilful I am."

Fani was quite satisfied. He never dreamed of questioning Emma's capability. They went down to the road, and, after looking about for some time and retracing their steps, they found at last the narrow foot-path leading to the left, and, after walking a little way, they saw before them the clump of willows at a short distance. It was now nearly evening, for they had been a long time finding the way. The path they had taken was twice as long as that by the river, by which Elsli went; but they knew nothing of that. Under the willows all was still; there was nothing to be seen beyond but more willows, and the sound of the rushing river came through the silence to their ears. The children came in among the trees till they could see the water that flowed beyond. There lay the boat not far from them, and behind the bushes a slender thread of blue smoke rising into the air showed them where the fisherman's hut was. A man was just going down to the edge of the water, and presently he began to hammer at something in the boat. Emma ran towards him, and Fani followed.

"Are you the fisherman?" asked Emma?

The man raised his head, and stopped hammering.

"Yes, I am; at your service," he answered, politely. "Do you want to buy some fish?"

Emma explained that they only wanted to hire a boat, just for an hour or two; not to go far away from the shore at all. The man looked doubtful. Fani looked like a steady little fellow. He ought to manage a boat; still, it was best to be prudent, so he asked,—

"Are you young people in the habit of rowing yourselves?"

"Oh, yes, it is not our first trip, by any means," said Emma. "We can take care of ourselves"; and Fani was no less confident.

The fisherman said it was too late to go that day; he should need the boat himself, and there was some mending to be done to it before it could be used. If they wanted it the next day, he would have it ready; they could take it themselves, if he was not there. They ought not to go far from shore, and the young gentleman could use the pole where the oars wouldn't serve; he would understand. Emma promised to be careful, and they promised to pay on their return; and these arrangements being completed to their immense satisfaction, the children walked happily back to Rosemount, eagerly discussing their plans on the way. At the same time Elsli came silent and alone along the little foot-path by the river. All three came from the same place, but they knew nothing of each other, for Elsli had not come out of the house till after the others had reached the road. In the garden they met, and asked each other whether the supper-bell had rung. As they spoke they heard it; and, running up the stone steps, they sat down to supper without farther questions, and each was glad that the others asked none.



CHAPTER VI.

ANXIETY AT ROSEMOUNT.

The only really quiet part of the day at Rosemount was during the morning hours, when the children were busy writing letters home and learning their lessons. To-day, however, a certain restlessness seemed to have taken possession of them all. Emma and Fani could not keep still a minute. The latter tossed his papers about as if he couldn't make up his mind which one he wanted. The former made all sorts of signs to him across the table, and, in the midst of studying her French verbs, she seemed to be suddenly seized with a desire for lead-pencils, for she began to sharpen all that she could get together, one after the other. Oscar was writing out his speech. Any one would have thought that he was composing a drama and acting it out as he went along; he kept throwing up his head, and gazing enthusiastically first at one inkstand and then at another, as if he were summoning them all to great heroic deeds.

Aunt Clarissa, who generally sat in the room during the lesson-time to keep order in the little company, had just been called out by Lina, the maid-servant, who was usually a most quiet and reserved young person, but who was now, evidently, much excited and almost distressed as she asked to "speak a word with Mrs. Clarissa."

No sooner was the door closed than Oscar broke out eagerly:—

"Though neither you nor anybody knows where the Festival is to be this evening, Fani, yet promise me, on your word of honor, that you will join us—Promise! at quarter before six, at the three oaks. Promise! and from there we march to the place of celebration."

Fani looked at Emma.

"Yes, of course you can promise. We shall be back by that time," said Emma, decidedly. "You see, Oscar, we have something to do together before that; but we are going at two o'clock if we can get away."

"Go where you please; only promise to be back," said Oscar.

Fani promised that he would be at the three oaks before six o'clock.

"And you too, Fred; we have not too many at the best. Promise that you'll come too."

It was not so easy to get Fred's consent; he was always slow to make a promise. Perhaps he would come; but, if he had anything important to attend to, he couldn't come if he did promise, so he must be excused.

Oscar was determined to have his own way. Fred was obstinate and would not yield. Emma and Fani were not at all loath to give up their studies and join in the dispute.

In the other room, Lina, her cheeks flaming with excitement, was declaring to Mrs. Clarissa that she would not stay another day in the house; no one would believe such things could happen who hadn't seen them; she never heard of such things before in her life.

"Do try to speak plainly, so that I can understand what you mean," said Clarissa, who had not an idea what the girl was talking about.

"Well, I noticed it a little once or twice before," said the agitated house-maid; "but I thought it came in at the open window. But to-day, just now, when I opened the drawer of the young gentleman's wash-stand to clean it, out jumped a live frog. I opened another and there were a lot of spiders crawling about! I slapped at them with a cloth and they ran into all the corners, and I couldn't get them out. Then I saw that the key was in the writing-desk, and I thought what if by chance any of the disgusting creatures had got in there; for what would Mrs. Stanhope say? I opened one division and then another and another. Hu! how it looked! I can't tell you how horrid it was! Snails, caterpillars, beetles, every sort of ugly living creature crawled out of every place,—it was all dirty and nasty and abominable! I cleaned and brushed and washed and scrubbed as well as I could; but it was so dirty and so sticky! Ugh! And it was done on purpose, too; that's the worst of it; and the nasty things have got into my clothes and my hair and all over me! That stupid young gentleman did it just to frighten whoever came and found them there! I know he did!"

"No, Lina, you're mistaken," said Clarissa, when she could get in a word. "Come with me, and I'll see what can be done with the room. The boy didn't mean to frighten any one. I'm only afraid he was trying to hide them where they wouldn't be found. Let's go and see."

The aspect of Fred's room was indeed alarming. All the drawers and shelves in the different pieces of furniture were pulled out, and all were dirty and bore the marks of the creatures who had been kept in them. On the floor lay the remains of the spiders and worms that Lina had destroyed. The windows also were spotted with the dead bodies of insects. Clarissa shook her head sadly.

"Call the lad to come up here," she said. "But do not make any more fuss about the matter. Listen to me, Lina; we must make this all clean and nice again without letting Mrs. Stanhope know anything about it. Do you understand?"

Lina muttered something to herself and went to call Fred. When the poor lad entered his room and saw the destruction of all his carefully preserved treasures, he turned as white as chalk, and spoke not one word.

"My dear boy," said Clarissa very gently, "you need not be frightened, but I must tell you that you cannot use these drawers nor this desk for this purpose. Now, we will clean them all out, but remember that no more creatures must be brought into the house."

"Oh, my collection! my whole collection!"

"Yes, you see this is not the way to go to work to make a collection. Don't be unhappy. I will see about your getting some more creatures. But the first thing is to get this room cleaned up, and I'm sure you won't want to give us so much trouble again."

Fred glanced at the places where his most cherished treasures had been stored. His rare oleander-worms and his priceless beetles all were destroyed. The drawers all opened, the creatures all killed and spoiled. He went down stairs again, but he could not go back to the others and have them ask him why he had been sent for. He went out into the garden, and down to the seat under the lindens by the river. The thought of his specimens, his precious specimens, was too much for the poor fellow. He threw himself on the ground and poured out his sorrows in sobs and tears.

In the afternoon, when the others all ran out rejoicing in the sunshine, he hid himself in a corner of the school-room, and wrote the following letter:—

DEAR AUNTY:—You will cry when you read this, I am sure. It is all done for, my entire collection; all killed with a dust-cloth, squashed, smashed, driven out of windows, and into holes, and all by a maid-servant. As I had no boxes for them, I naturally put my specimens into the best places I could find for them. In the writing-desk in my room were ever so many little divisions, just the very thing to put different varieties into. When the maid came to clear up the room, she didn't know anything about their value, of course, and she thrust her hateful brush right in and destroyed them all. She is a savage, an ignorant savage. I did as you told me, dear aunty. Not one tiny little frog even have I carried in my pockets, not even a beetle; and this is the result. I will not tell you all the things I had found; I couldn't bear to describe them. Two such beauties of beetles—bright red wings, the body lilac blue, and glittering as any precious stone! Such a rare species! And an oleander-sphinx! And my magnificent caterpillar of the humming-bird moth!—you know, aunty, that one with yellow stripes and blue eye-spots. All trodden to death on the floor.

I must stop; the longer I think of it, the worse I feel. I will say one thing though. You may call a person "Aunty," but that doesn't make her one. When we first came here, I used to say to Fani, when he wanted anything, "Why don't you go and ask Aunt Clarissa?" and he answered more than a dozen times, "That isn't allowed here." So at last I understood, and as I didn't want to lead him to do anything out of the way, I didn't say it any more. But now you see the difference between a real aunt and a make-believe one. There is nothing in the world that we can't ask you. If you can't do it, you say so, and there's the end of it. But that's no reason for not asking another time; there is always something to ask, and you understand that, and don't expect us to stop asking just because you have to say no sometimes. Now, this whole trouble comes from this; for when I asked Fani to ask Aunt Clarissa to give me some twenty or thirty old boxes to keep my specimens in, he said it was not proper to ask for so many things, and I could pack them in paper. Just think of that! To wrap living creatures up in paper! Of course Fani doesn't understand anything about such things.

Now what I want you to do, dear aunty, is to write in your next letter that we are to come home; it is high time. It is four weeks since we came, and that is long enough to be away from home; for home is the best place in the whole world. There are plenty of boxes to be had there, and everything that you want, and there are nice places for things, and there isn't such danger of accidents. And if anything does go wrong, you are there, aunty, and in a minute it is set right again. Do write and say that we may leave here on Saturday, and then on Sunday we shall be at home again. How glad we shall be! Good-bye, dear aunty; your ever-loving nephew,

FRED.

The evening came; lovely and bright. Under the three oaks were assembled the two Fink boys, the baker's son from Lucerne, the shoemaker's apprentice from Uri, the hotel porter from Schwyz, and Feklitus! Oscar stood in the midst with his banner, and looked sharply in every direction, for it was almost six o'clock and neither Fred nor Fani was in sight. The clock struck; five, ten minutes passed, and they did not come.

Oscar felt that it was useless to wait longer. Fred did not mean to come; he had seen that in the morning; but Fani, where was he? As he asked himself this question, Oscar raised his fist threateningly in the air and muttered to himself:—

"Oh, that Emma! that Xanthippe!"

His original intention had been to march to the windmill to the music of fife and drum, flute and harmonicon, but he had given up part of this plan; chiefly, he said to himself, on account of his father's advice not to make any disturbance in a strange place; but also because he could not get a drum, and Feklitus would not play the flute.

Now it was time to move, and the procession began to march. The lad from Lucerne went first, playing briskly upon the harmonicon; the others followed two and two, and Oscar in the middle held aloft the banner. The staff was quickly planted as previously arranged; the beautiful banner floated proudly over the land. Oscar took his stand by it, and the others formed a circle, lying on the grass about him. With a loud ringing voice he began:—

"Friends and brothers!"

"What does this mean? What is this all about?" suddenly thundered a voice behind him.

The boys sprang to their feet. Oscar looked round. Two bearded men in uniform stood close behind him and looked at him with threatening glances. In a flash Oscar turned about, made one great leap down the hill-side and away across the field like a madman. Behind him came the Finks, scarcely touching the ground. Down the other side ran the Lucerner fast on the heels of the Schwyzer, who tripped, and both went headlong into a ditch. Feklitus was the only one who kept his ground. He knew who he was; Fortunatus, the only son of Mr. Bickel. No one would dare to meddle with him. He knew, too, that he was by no means nimble, and the sudden appearance of the men in uniform had given him a strange feeling of heaviness in his legs. He had no mind to stay alone, however, and so he seized the shoemaker's boy by the collar, and held him as in a vise.

One of the men now came up to them and said roughly,—

"Come along to the watch-house and explain what you have been about, and what it all means."

The Uri boy hid himself as well as he could. Feklitus, half-frightened, half-angry, answered,—

"We have done nothing. We are not to blame. It's all Oscar's doing."

"We don't know anything about that," said the man. "You come along with us. Our motto is, 'Taken together, hung together.'" Then he turned to his comrade, and they began to whisper.

Feklitus was as pale as a ghost.

"Did you hear that? They are going to hang us," he said, grasping his companion still more tightly.

"Let us run away," gasped the boy, hardly able to speak for choking.

Feklitus looked at the men; they were in earnest conversation with the miller. He sprang from the ground; fear gave him unwonted agility. Down the hill he raced, his hair fairly standing on end with fright, and the Uri boy after him. Neither looked back to see whether they were pursued, but they thought they heard footsteps behind them. On they ran—on, on; at last they separated; one this way, the other that; and then both disappeared. They had not been followed.

Oscar reached Rosemount all out of breath. He rushed up the steps, ran to his bed-room, took out his portfolio, threw himself on a seat before the table, and wrote the following, sobbing more and more as he went on:—

DEAR AUNTY,—I want your help. Something has happened that may have very unpleasant consequences, and you are the only person that can help me; you will know how. I really did mean to be careful, just as my father bade me, and not do anything out of the way, and particularly not make a noise. You will not think that I did wrong to select the best of the mottoes. You know you said yourself that though we had no tyrants ourselves, yet, where there were any, it was a splendid verse. I cannot explain it all exactly, but we were taken by surprise in the middle of a perfectly harmless meeting. We succeeded in escaping, but I think perhaps we shall be prosecuted; and if my name comes out, they may write to papa from the court of justice here, and that would be horrible. You will stand by me, won't you, dear aunty? If a letter should come to my father, couldn't you get hold of it and read it and answer it yourself, without letting him know? You can explain to the gentlemen that we were only having a little Swiss celebration just among ourselves. Pray do help me, and not let the story get out. I hope you will write to-morrow and tell us to come home. We have been away long enough. I am sure papa and mamma would be glad, for we cannot do our lessons nicely here, at all. Everything is far better at home; things are better arranged, and the amusements are a great deal better. Do write to us to come home directly; and tell me too that you have done what I ask about the letter to papa. Best love, dearest aunty,

From your loving nephew,

OSCAR.

The letter was folded in haste, and the address quickly added; and the writer ran with all his might to the post-office, a short distance from the house. He had to hurry, for it was nearly supper-time. As he came tearing along into the court-yard at Rosemount, on his return, he started back; for there stood one of the men in uniform, with the deserted banner in his hand. He was waiting to be let in. The door opened. He entered. Oscar drew back behind a great oak-tree. His heart beat like a trip-hammer. What was going on inside there? Mrs. Stanhope would know now all about it! What would she think of him after this! Perhaps she would send them all home with a letter of complaint to their father! His heart beat louder and louder. Perhaps the man came to fetch him to be punished and imprisoned. Had he broken some law when he had the hole dug in front of the mill, when there was nothing but short grass there? Oh, if he had only followed his father's advice, and not tried to do anything in this strange country without leave! All these anxious thoughts ran through Oscar's head, and the longer that dreadful man stayed, the more alarmed he grew.

Clarissa had just finished her disagreeable task, and, assisted very reluctantly by the indignant Lina, had at last succeeded in removing all traces of Fred's unfortunate collection, when a tremendous ringing at the house-door called her down stairs. It was the watchman with the banner. Another strange occurrence. What would happen next? She was really frightened when she recognized Oscar's banner, and read the too distinctly printed motto which embellished it. Clarissa looked anxiously at the different doors for fear that Mrs. Stanhope might come through one of them. She asked the man what his business might be. He replied that they had discovered that the owner of the banner he held in his hand belonged at Rosemount, and also that they had come to the conclusion that all that affair was only boys' play, though at first the miller had thought otherwise because of the motto. This was why he had informed the police. Now, they merely wished to advise Mrs. Stanhope to bid her young people keep such games within the limits of her own grounds.